Drawing to a Close

When I think about how long I’ve been in Morocco and how long it’s been since I’ve seen my family and my husband it strikes me as a little shocking. It’s been more than five months since I left home and more than four since I’ve seen Ali. I miss so many things about home. I miss my daily gym routine,  my apartment, driving a car, seeing my awesome friends for playdates and lunches and spending the occasional day or weekend at my parents’ house, which is still a bastion of comfort to me after all these years of living under my own roof.

I also miss having a full conversation, fully expressing myself and just understanding everything in general. And last but not least I miss reading in bed at night alongside my husband. That makes me sad just to write it.

But with that said, I’ve had a wonderful time here in Marrakesh. I’ve gotten to know my husband’s family better which, believe it or not, can be done despite language difficulties. I’ve integrated myself somewhat fully into this rich and ancient culture here in Morocco, but I still don’t eat with my hands, instead opting to use my forshayta  A.K.A fork. I have also still not worn more than two shirts at a time but I can cop to putting three on my kids when the weather was especially frigid. Sue me I’m a nervous mom!!!

I’ve also seen some more of the country than I have on previous trips. This time around I visited Casablanca and Rabat, both big and nice cities that I would like to spend more time in with the hubby. I also enjoyed just seeing how people live. I realize on my previous trips I really wasn’t very focused on home life but this time around, with no husband and day-to-day living happening, the routine of life was staring me in the face.

That has been the best part of being here, just experiencing a different way of life. I’ve tried to focus on that aspect of my stay here in my blog, and I hope I succeeded with giving you all some insight and maybe a giggle or two. I know I’ve had my ups and downs here but they were always tempered with laughter thanks to my big, varied, slightly crazy yet totally normal Moroccan family!

Now that Ali’s return to Morocco is less than a week away (YAH!!!!!!!)  I find I can barely wait to see him. I’ve grown restless with Skype, which nevertheless has sustained us during our long separation but enough already ya know?! It’s a testament to how long I’ve been here and how accustomed to everything I’ve become that I’m almost thinking of coming home as a vacation. After all, going home means swimming in my parents’ pool, taking a beach vacation, hitting the sauna at the gym and seeing friends I haven’t spent time with for a while. Sounds like a vacation to me!!!

Little Lost American

I like to talk....and talk, and talk and talk. Anyone who knows me can attest to this, and I like to think I'm so interesting that I keep people's rapt attention rather than making them wish for earplugs or a quick yet subtle escape.

I could be wrong.

Anyway, here in Marrakesh, in the land of people daring to speak a language I (barely) know, I have learned about silence. And you know what? It's not golden.

I yearn to talk, to gossip, to whisper, to chat and to wile away the hours with these Moroccan ladies who love to laugh and talk until all hours of the night. My mother-in-law is just full of fun and always attracts a house full of family because we're all drawn to her. I want so badly to have a real conversation. I can tell she does too. We're working on it.

I will say, however, that it is surprising how much you can communicate with a few mutually understood words, some key gestures and a knowing smile or a wink, for which my mother-in-law is famous. She always has a conspiratorial little wink for me. She's so cute!

Sometimes during my prior visits I've taken to slipping out after mealtimes to read a book or to chat with Ali. But now that I've been here so long and on my own I feel I've really become part of the family and feel more comfortable with my silent spells, which are becoming more brief as the language starts to seep into my brain.

I will address what I believe is a real problem with American schooling and that is the fact that we aren't exposed to other languages at a young age. If it were not for the decent-to-good language skills that some of the family over here have I would be completely lost. I mean, after all, the guy I buy my fruit from has no teeth but by God he can speak English with me! Another time a guy stopped me on the street to comment on my great English skills. When I told him I was American and that of course I speak English we had a good laugh because at first glance he thought I was Moroccan. Mind you this was a French-speaking African who came to Morocco because he could speak Arabic and he was conversing with me in English no problemo!Come on Americans get with it!

But I am learning. I am determined to make myself less lost here, and I am convinced that total immersion in a culture is the best way to achieve that, at least in terms of mastering the language. I am learning almost with no effort at all which is fabulous because I surely did not come here to put forth much effort into anything other than having a great time. Mission accomplished by the way! Living in a new land is surely worth any discomfort I may have to deal with or silence I may have to endure! Being a little lost never hurt anybody.

Culture Clashes

So you've all read my blogs about all the weird and strange things Moroccans do, surely things that would at least qualify them for residency on another planet right? I mean, how many shirts can one person wear in 90-degree heat and a blazing sun? Three apparantly.

But I digress. I thought it would be interesting for you guys to hear what they think is weird about me, and yes they've told me. For one they can't believe I don't speak French. In Morocco the second language is French so that naturally draws many French-speaking people here on vaca which leads them to assume that all white folks speak the language. Not this white girl! When I inform them of my unfortunate unilingual language skills (that would mean virtually zero) they take a second look as if they've never seen such a thing before. A white girl in Morocco who doesn't speak French?! Doesn't her tongue work? They don't know what to make of it.

I've also been told my parenting skills differ from theirs. A week ago we spent a great several days with relatives in Rabat. I was treated to fab cooking, great pastries and breads and housekeeping services! However, one evening over coffee while I was admiring how my kids had taken to a pretend game where they imagined themselves as cartoon characters and were playing quietly but creatively all over the house, bothering noone I assure you, one of the younger English-speaking girls (of course she speaks a third language, she's Moroccan!) told me that I allow my children lots of "freedom" to play in the house and it's not something Moroccan mothers would tolerate. I quickly asked her to explain what she meant-after they all assured me my the kids were not being bad or troublesome-and said that in Morocco mothers want their children to sit when indoors. I can't imagine how this would be accomplished, especially when you've got an active boy like Eli. She said it's just the culture. She said children should play outside and sit inside. Well, show me some playgrounds and I'll be happy to have my kids run themselves silly outdoors but, as I've mentioned before, those are in short supply. So after they assured my once again that my kids were fine and I made some crack about how we Americans love our "freedom" we all laughed and went back to our regular coffee conversation, i.e. not talking about me and my non-indoor-sitting children. But they might have been thinking about it.

I've also been told I don't worry enough about my kids. Like I don't have a freak out if Eli lets go of my hand for one second to run into a hanoot (tiny store) selling suckers. I mean come on, where do you think he's going? He's running in the opposite direction of traffic and heading straight for the sweets. I got this. My mother-in-law is notorious for this. She wants me to have Eli and Drea in vice grips as I drag them along the street all the while yelling "Anduk shanty!" which means "Watch out, the street!"

So there are a few things in a nutshell. I'm sure there are more that maybe they haven't decided to mention to me. But, all in all they respect my wishes and my ways and I do the same for them. After all, you never know what you can learn from other people, even if they are from a different planet.

Come Take a Ride...On My Emotional Roller Coaster

I'm happy, life is fab.
Look at me wrong and you'll regret it.

I'm full, the food here is delicious and satisfying.
If I don't get a pizza, cheeseburger and a slice of chocolate cake pronto there's going to be trouble.

I love Marrakesh, it's so exotic and unique.
Just give me Houston and Wal-Mart any day over endless trips to the store to get food.

I'm doing OK without my husband, but I'll be excited when I finally see him again.
I'm going to strangle the man on site for leaving me along this long.

I enjoy flexing my Arabic-language muscles.
I just want to have a conversation in English, for pete's sake. Oh you didn't understand me? Nothing I can do about that buddy. Sucks for us.

These are just some of the many conflicting emotions I've been having over the past week. I don't know if it's a sign that I'm totally ready to come home or what, but whatever it is I don't like it.

For so long I've been fine here, and in all fairness I still am, but I'm noticing little things are starting to get on my nerves. Food is a big thing. Everyone knows I've been losing weight here and loving it. Part of that is the food is so controlled here in terms of when you eat, there's not too much of it and it's super healthy. That said sometimes I just want a cheeseburger at 7 p.m (way too early for dinner time over here by the way) and a chocolate cake or any baked good for that matter. Is that too much to ask? Apparantly it is.

OK so I'm exagerating, but only a little. There's is a hamburger and pizza joint just a few steps from my door and two large, beautiful and very tempting cake stores no more than a five-minute walk away. For several months now I've relied on eating what my family is providing but in past days I've just wanted comfort food I guess. This first happened when Ali booked his ticket to come back here which for some reason put me in a downward emotional tailspin. I cured that with four slices of cheese pizza, a donut and a late-night snack session complete with Pringles and a chocolate bar and "Dexter." My scale and I weren't friends the next day.

But after that I was back on the horse and feeling fine and me and the scale made up. But the other day, and much too quickly after my previous low, I'm feeling a little shaky again. I was grumbling about dinner not being served until 9:30 (but come on who can blame me, I'm starving here!) and then of course they served red meat again. They have this thing about serving only meat at parties (and little else believe me) and serving meat to guests. I get that this is how you do things and it's meant to be respectful and welcoming but I'm really not a big meat eater and especially not red meat. Just give me veggies and the occasional sweet treat and I'm fine.

So now the kids are finished with week one of their two-week vacation from school (and who dreamed up this crap anyway???) and I'm trying to come up with ways to fill the days instead of watching my kids mindlessly zone out in front of cartoons, although that does come in handy when I need to exercise. So it looks like it's going to be trips to the mall with the pay-out-your-butt for a time-limited excursion in an indoor playground, or trek to the local gas station/restaurant/free playground with an order of the cheapest thing on the menu (cause that's the way I roll) or maybe I'll make another trip to Jemaa al Fna to soak up the local culture/craziness.

Or maybe I'll just dye my hair and load up on Snicker bars in case of emotional emergencies.

Morocco-Modern or Middle Ages?

After my first trip to Marrakesh in 2005, someone asked me if they had "real" roads here. I simply smiled and said yes, of course there are "real" roads. The roads are, I assure you, very modern and normal, however you will see a donkey pulling a fruit cart fairly often as a Mercedes flies by. But that's all part of the charm and I quite enjoy it!

I recently recounted this conversation to Ali's brother to see his reaction. He looked at me and said, with a smile and a shake of the head (presumably in responce to the "Are there roads?" question), "This is Morocco."

His answer is simple but says a lot. We Americans see so many immigrants come to our country and of course the States is rich in immigrant history. But we may forget that other countries are desirable as well, perhaps for far different reasons that those that entice people to the good ole US of A.

I see a lot of "Africans" here. I use quotes because this is how Moroccans refer to black people from different parts of Africa who come here, usually to study. Most Moroccans are definitely not black, they're typically mocha-colored, so you can easily spot the foreigners here, including me There are also a good deal of French people who live here either part time or year round. As French is the second language here in Morocco, it makes sense that so many of the French find their way to Morocco.

Morocco seems to be a study in contrasts. There are many modern aspects, primarily the influence of technology, but so many of the traditions remain and don't seem to be going anywhere. Most people seem to favor eating at home, you can still catch a whiff of homemade bread wafting from people's windows each and every day, the mint tea is still served in every home (I would wager), and negotiating for everything from fruits to furniture is still common practice.

So in light of what I've written here, did any of you have any preconceived notions of Morocco when I told her I would be coming here to live? I'd love to here about it!

Sameness

I've been a little hesitant in writing this post for fear that it would be taken as a criticism to the Moroccan people, but now that I'm over that worry I figured I'd go for it!

Morocco is an ancient culture. No I'm not going to give you a history lesson but in a country with a mosque more than 1,000 years old I realize I'm dealing with centuries of tradition. And it is tradition, or rather, sameness that I want to address here in this blog. You, dear reader, can make the distinction between tradition or sameness for yourself.

It seems to me that in so many things Moroccans are the same. First thing is the way they eat. They all eat bread along with every bite of their food (with rare exceptions). It's as if they can eat nothing if they aren't scoooping it up with bread. Because of this method of eating they do not use forks, instead using the bread to grab the food. I had a bit of fun with this the other day. We were sitting down to eat and the food had been placed on the table but not yet the bread. Of course Ali's grandmother was quick to point this out to her daughter-in-law (Ali's mother) and she was calling for her to bring the bread. Just to see what she would do, I handed her my fork (which I always use while eating because I'm the crazy American who just can't fathom eating that much bread) and encouraged her to eat from it without the bread. She shook her head no, smiled at me and said "shooma" which means shame. Good grief!

Another "sameness" quality is the aprons a lot of the older women wear. Ali's grandmother and her sister both wear these all day even though they do absolutely no cooking. This is a garment that has to be tied around the waist and I would imagine it's not the most comfortable thing in the world but damned if they don't take them off...EVER!

This next one is an extension of the aprons as it deals with clothing. In Morocco there is a unique garment called the jilaba (that's not how to spell it but I tried to go with phonetic spelling). It's a long dress for women and a similar style for men, expect the men's style comes to the ankles and the women's is a little longer. Most jilabas sport a hood and embroidery down the center front of the garment. You can spot them anywhere in the world and know they came from Morocco. Now don't get me wrong, many of them are very beautiful and they come in a dizzying array of styles, colors and patterns. But they are essestially all the same.

Now on to cleaning attire. I've seen several ladies of the family and ladies of the neighborhood cleaning in and outside of their homes and, again, it's all the same. They all roll up their pants, put on their plastic houseshoes, tie up all their hair in a rag and go at it. They all look the same pushing a broom or a mop.

Also, they all cover their hair completely when they go to the hamaam (public baths) or bathe inside the home. And this is regardless of whether or not they routinely cover their hair for religious purposes or not. For instance, Ali's youngest sister doesn't cover her hair but I can always tell when she's had a shower because she'll have her hair wrapped in a scarf for the rest of the day. I think this goes back to their fear of cold but I don't know. I always just towel dry my hair and then pull it up into a ponytail while damp but call me crazy. I also let Drea leave the hamaam with towel-dried but non-covered hair and I'm sure the ladies are all silent condemning me for my negligent mothering. Ah well.

Another thing is shoes. They wear them in the house but not on rugs and carpets. Now I totally get and agree with this as several studies have shown that walking with shoes on carpets traps a lot of dirt and dust in your home and can trigger allergy attacks and other problems. But it's still a funny sight to see a serviceman walk into your home and take off his shoes before he fixes your power outlet in your room or, even funnier, to see someone drop to their knees on the rug in the room your sitting in and "knee walk" to you because they need to greet you (with a kiss of course) and they don't want to take off their shoes because they don't intend on staying in the room you're in. I have seen this done on more than one occasion and it's funny!

I've also talked to my sister-in-law about the type of food that's served in Morocco. She agreed with me that if you walk into any home they are likely having tea at the same time we are, having coffee the same time we are and so on.

Now having said all this I'm sure we can chalk a lot of this "sameness" up to tradition, something I feel is a little lacking in America simply due to its youth.  Now many of you may not agree with me on that point but having seen something of other cultures I can tell you it's true, as least in my Moroccan experience. But feel free to share your own.

The Hanoot Rules

First off folks, sorry for the delay in updating my blog but the Internet connection has been giving me trouble for the better part of two weeks and once I had had it and suffered a semi-nervous breakdown I suppose the gods decided to smile down upon me and restore my connection.

So now that I'm back up and running I'm trying to condence all that I've had in my head during that time and put it down into words. Since I've decided I can't do that I'll just start with a story of the local hanoots, or the little stores that dot the streets and neighborhoods of Marrakesh.

First let me explain how the city is set up and then you can understand how the hanoot fits in. Marrakech is a lot like New York City with its block-length buildings that are then divided into residences and stores. So a hanoot is just a little slip of a space in which is packed a multitude of items-usually snacks, toiletries and household items. However, there are specialty hanoots and it is these that I'm going to talk about.

Since Marrakesh is a walking city most things, if not all, that one might need on a daily basis are within walking distance. For instance, in my neighborhood and not more than a two-minute walk away are hanoots for cell phones and their accessories, laptop computers and their accessories, locks and keys, bike repair, beauty products, medicines and probably some other stuff I can't think of right now or haven't noticed yet. Essentially it's like living amongst a divided Wal-Mart that sectioned off each one of its departments into small shops along the street.

Even better along the streets are what I call the "convenience kitchens." Just steps from my door you can find men cooking soups and donuts or women making bread, right there at the cusp of the sidewalk. Each day as I bring my children to and from school I am greeted by the smells of baked or fried bread, the sizzle of hot soups being served at a makeshift sidewalk cafe and, of course, the endless drone of car horns. A Marrakesh street wouldn't be complete without the near-constant "beep beed" of oncoming cars.

The Hammam

Several of you guys have requested that I do a blog about the hamman experience here so I've decided to be a sweetie and comply.

First of all let me explain to you what a hamman is not. It is not a room with a large bathtub where women all bathe together and you have to worry about who's peeing on you. No, not the deal. It is also not a place to feel uncomfortable, although as you are bathing in front of everyone there I get why some Americans (Mom!!!) might feel squeamish.

That being said, let me tell you about the hammam I know and love. The hamman is something I suspect all Moroccans grow up with as just a natural aspect of life. However, whappens in the hamman is unique within the normal realm of bathing. What makes it special is that, yes, it's done in front of everyone, but what also sets it apart, as far as I know, is the way you bathe.

Sure Moroccans do the usual soap and suds routine and of course wash their hair and, for women, shave their legs. But the real beauty of the hammam is the exfoliation. Once you've done your  normal wash, you lather a special soap on your body and you use a loofah glove to remove all the dead skin from your body.

Now before I get more into that let me tell you about this soap. It's golden brown in color and it's smooth and silky to the touch. It feels very luxurious to the touch and, once you've removed all your dead skin, you are literally silky. Get why I love it so much?

But let me tell you about the hammam itself, at least the one I've been to. You pay 12 dirhams (Moroccan currency) at the door and another dirham to the lady who will watch your bag containing all your clothes. Then it's off to the undressing room. After you've stripped down to your skivvies (no bra), you head to the inner part of the hammam with your water buckets and other toiletry and hammam-specific supplies in tow. The rooms have smooth concrete floors and the walls are extremely hot to the touch-the better to keep you warm my dear. After you find your spot and you've set down your bath mat you head to fill up your water buckets. See in the hamman there is no actual bath as you are probably imagining in your head. For water there are water spouts in pairs, one searing hot and the other freezing cold, around the room for you to fill your buckets. Once you have filled your bucket-which are much like large sand buckets you see children lugging at the beach-and gotten your water to a comfortable temperature you head back to your spot and start to wash. You will have a small plastic bowl to dip into the water bucket to pour the water over your head and body. Then you do your normal wash.

But let's get to the best part shall we?  The exfoliation. Of course most people do their exfoliation themselves, especially on body parts that are easily within reach. Most, however, have a friend do their backs. The exfoliation is done in a specific motion of fast down and slow up. Here's what I mean. For example, they run the loofah from their knee down the rest of their leg quickly and bring it slowly back to the knee. This technique is repeated all over the body. This is done over and over again in the same spot until all of the dead skin is removed, and believe me they leave no piece of dead skin behind and the proof is in the pudding. You can see the dead skin collecting all over people's bodies. Talk about refreshing, and maybe a little nasty at the same time, but it all gets washed down the drain, the one spot in the hammam of which everybody steers clear. That's no man's land.

But there's more to the hamman than just out-of-this-world cleanliness and silky smooth skin. Although I think wanting anything more is just being greedy.

So call me greedy. I can live with that.

I love to go to the hammam without my kids and here's why. I can sit in a nice and hot yet non-steamy room, listen to the sounds of water running out of spouts and down people's back and of course, incessant chit chat that is inevitable when you have a large grouping of women The rooms are awash in dim lighting, it's a warm and sultry atmosphere, and its one of the most primitive things I've ever seen.

Now don't get me wrong. That's not an insult to the bathing practices of Moroccans. Quite the contrary. I revel in the hamman. I love it's otherworldliness, at least to the likes of an American like me. I love that you can walk in and see women laid full out on their mats in total relaxation while their friend or mother or whomever gives them a full-body rub down with the loofah while next to them a giddy child will be body surfing along the water-slicked floor. It's a crazy sight and it reminds me that I'm not in Kansas anymore. Which was the whole point of coming to Marrakesh right?

Poised to Play and Nowhere to Go

You know what is within walking distance from my house? At least two pharmacies, five private schools, multiple hair salons, a dry cleaners, three dress shops, a place to buy DVD's, and more corner stores, fruit and vegetable stands and cafes than I can count.

You know what is NOT within walking distance from my house (at least not any distance that I want to walk on a daily basis)? A playground.

Any of you with small children and not a lot of outdoor green space know how much that can suck. And believe me, it sucks.

Not that there is no outdoor space near our home, there is. Right outside our door, in the middle of our neighborhood there is a large concrete area where kids play (endless) games of soccer and classic games like tag and cash cash (also know as hide and seek). When I engage my kids in these activities and round up the neighborhood kids as well, then my two get a lot of valuable play time and exercise. But man do I wish that area was grassed in with a playground on top. I don't think anything would make me happier at this point.

There is a play-area type facility, pretty big too, right behind the local Wal-Mart-type store that is about a 20-minute walk from the house. The problem is that I don't want to make that walk each day with kids (you may have read one of my previous posts expelling the joys [NOT] of taking walks with my kids), and I don't want to pay the fee for the kids to play.

Yeah you heard that right. You have to pay to get into the playgrounds around here.

Say wha????????

Yeah, I had the same reaction. But it is what it is and so there it is. I took my kids to a local indoor/outdoor play spot over the holidays and, though the place was great, you had to pay for each of the different play areas and there were time limits.

Don't these peeps know I want to plant my kids in their play area and let them run wild while I ignore them and read a book, or is that just an American thing?

In all fairness Marrakesh can boast of having these gas stations that have morphed into restaurants with outdoor playgrounds attached. These are free but the closest one to me is an hour walk away and there's no bus to take me there, only my two feet. Doesn't sound too free to me

Anyway, in the spirit of feeding Marrakesh's playground industry, I will be taking the dreaded 20-minute walk to the pay-for-play playground tomorrow and letting my kids loose. And there better not be a time limit.

Mean Muslim Men

As you might expect, Morocco is full of Muslim men, and you know what that means...meanies.

Meanies who detest my very presence outside the home and scowl at me in the streets for daring to step out.

Meanies who loathe to greet me and turn away at my  "Salaam."

Meanies who dare me to take my daughter to school and-gasp!-give her an education.

Meanies who can't wait to get home and greet their wives with a quick jab to the head.

You know what I mean right? Of course you do.

OK, obviously I am kidding and hopefully most of you got that, otherwise we have a very sad state of affairs. Now it goes without saying that there are bad Muslim men, meanies as I will call them here. But of course there are non-Muslim meanies everywhere. So as this blog is about my experiences living here in Marrakesh, let me tell you about the men I see and how they act and what they do. And no exaggerations, I promise.

The greetings here, as I've talked about in another blog post, are intense and the warmth displayed in meeting is not reserved for men meeting men alone, or women meeting women. Men greet women with dignity and a smile. They usually share a handshake or a kiss to the hand or head if the man is greeting an older, respected lady. These men will stop and speak with you and ask how everyone in your immediate family and your second cousin is doing. This is normal. See it all the time.

The relationships between husband and wife are pretty routine as well, from what I can tell. I've seen my brother-in-law and his wife argue, ending with his wife ripping up said paper they were fighting over (don't ask me what was said, I have no clue), and then him sending her "I'm sorry" eyes over the dinner table. Normal stuff. This same brother-on-law, who can have an attitude on occassion-would rather die than let me take out my own trash and has even chased me halfway down the road to retrieve from me my trash can and finish the task-and takes to the kitchen on his only day off to help his mother prepare lunch. This isn't done with any fanfare or smugness, it's just a normal course of life. As is the occasional fight with his wife.

I can also relate to you a hilarious story my  mother-in-law told about her neighbor's husband who would frequently come home drunk (a big no-no for most women) and whose wife would take her fist and feet to him in the street. Not too hard of course but enough to get across her point that she did not appreciate his behavior. My mother-in-law said he would holler at her "Safi Khadija, safi." Which means enough. But that Khadija was going to get her licks in. Now of course I'm not saying this is good or even appropriate, although the thought of it is a little funny, but I'm sure it's not what most people would expect from a Muslim marriage but there it is.

Here in Marrakesh I see men dropping their kids off at school, carrying their packages or purses for them, or walking with their wives while pushing the stroller. I see men and women haggling over the price of goods and services, and I see many a lady scooting around town on her motorbike.

Normal stuff folks, normal stuff.

Food, Actually

The other day I was chatting with my mother-in-law, partially through my sister-in-law and partially through me. With her broken English and my even-more-broken Arabic we somehow manage to communicate. Anyway, earlier in the day all three of us ladies were talking about travel and my MIL was saying that she had never been outside of Morocco and it was something she had always wanted to do. Later that evening I asked my MIL where she would go if she was able. She said she'd go to America. Seems normal enough. She has two sons, one daughter-in-law (me) and two grandbabies there. But her reason for coming was what through me for a loop. She said she'd want to come to cook for me and Ali.

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Initially I just had to laugh at this, but later her comment got me thinking. Her cooking is what she does, it's her thing and she does it well, and, to her, coming to my home to my modest kitchen to cook for me, her son and grandchildren is how she can best show us she loves us. That's saying a lot about cooking for a woman who is quick with a laugh, still roughhouses with my maniac of a son, is a lover of people and conversation and is always quick with a funny story and a sly wink for me.

This leads me to a funny story. When Ali was here during December he remarked to his mother that she should rest instead of cooking dinner, her second home-cooked meal of the day. Now, most women I know (myself included) would take this comment as a relief and happily order pizza with nary a second though.

You know what my MIL's responce was?

"Are you crazy?"

I'm totally serious, and so was she.

Gripes

So it can't all be bliss, right?

So far I've pretty much raved about my experiences here, and they have been great. I'm immersing myself into another culture, which is always thrilling I think. And I'm learning so much about how people live. This is the stuff of fascination for me!

However, there is a flip side to all this fun and I'm gonna give it to you.

People here litter. I know, I know!!! It's shocking but true. I'm not saying we live in a trash heap, but there is definitely noticable trash-specific items spewn aross the shanty (street in Moroccan Arabic) and sidewalks. Also, wherever you find an empty lot you will find trash. A lot of it. It's really tragic and is what I consider the shame of this beautiful city. Luckily the city or country (I don't know which) does a lot to clean up, offering medium-sized bins along the roads and street cleaners. But I'll give you a story about the culture of littering here and you'll see why some roadside Dumpsters may not be enough to fix the problem, i.e. fix people's attitude toward littering.

A few weeks ago I was walking down the street with Ali's neice Raja and her friend whose name I don't know. Sorry. I bought Eli and Drea each a snack from the local hanut (corner store that dot the landscape here in Marrakesh) and I stowed their trash into my bag I was carrying with plans to toss it when we got back home. Upon seeing what I did, Raja's friend actually reached into my bag, grabbed the snack wrappers and threw them on the ground.

I was astounded!!!!!

I picked the wrappers back up, replaced them in the back and said to her in my broken Arabic. "Your city is beautiful. Why would you make it bad with this littering?"

True story, folks. True story.

Another thing that irks me a little is how noone seems to know how to wait in line. Nearly every time I've been in line at a bank or a store someone has cut in and gone on ahead of me. This is common. And don't get me started on the line, or lack thereof, to get on the bus. As soon as people see the bus coming to a stop they charge the doors, before they're even opened mind you, and the pushing begins. No line, no sense of where one might be, just people coming at you from all directions. I admit I've taken to pushing people out of my way, and my kids' way, and told them they were bad and shameful and given them my most disapproving look. I have no idea how this flies, but there is some freedom in knowing I can tell them off in English and they likely won't understand a single word I'm saying. Talk about a no-consequence venting session!

Ok I can say I'm stumped here. That's really all I can think of for now, which goes a long way toward showing how nice it is here, truly. In light of all the Moroccans' friendliness, hospitality and generosity, which is unmatched in my experience, I can forgive a lot of impatience and little littering, even as I go down the streets picking up trash.

Boldness

Here's a story for you. Make of it what you will.

The other day I and Drea were standing in the check-out line of the local supermarket when I struck up a conversation with a French woman. The lady told me that she lives part time in France and the rest of the time here in Marrakesh. She had also lived in Casablanca. Naturally I told her that I was an American and I told her about how I came to be living here, that my husband was a Moroccan and that the kids and I had decided to stay here for a few months to see family and to soak up the local culture.

Her responce: "Do you have a choice between living here and in America?"

She asked me this with a straight face and seemingly no shame at all. I thought the question was a pretty bold one and a perfect example that you don't always have to say exactly what goes through your mind.

I looked at her like she was a little crazy, smiled and said, "Of course I have a choice. Whatever I want my husband gives me."

And for the record folks, I did have a choice to stay here. Up until the day my husband was leaving to go back to America he kept reminding me that if I didn't want to stay  he would change my tickets pronto and that would be the end of it. Furthermore, if ever I want to come home before our scheduled return date of May 28 that I need only say the word. I have a fabulous husband who respects me and my decisions and I find it offensive when anyone, especially a complete stranger, questions that.

Kisses

Here's a sweet story for you.

The other day as I was dropping Drea and Eli off at school I noticed a little boy from Eli's class had stopped at my feet and was staring up at me expectantly. I admit I was confused as I had never spoken to the little boy, and I didn't have any noticable candy stash in my pocket so I couldn't imagine what he needed. After all he wasn't speaking, just staring up at my looking adorable.

Then...ding, ding, ding! Lightbulb!

He was waiting for a kiss.

Kiss? you ask. Yes, a kiss. A tiny peck which, upon my realizing what he was waiting for so patiently, was sweetly given on the cheek.

People in Morocco like to kiss. They are brought up this way and, after this incident, I've observed children actually stopping their outdoor play to kiss a familiar grown-up who is walking by. No joke! They will even seek out all the adults in the home to give them kisses upon entering the house. It's super sweet and cute!

So let me tell you about the kisses, as their is a system, as there are with many things in Morocco. I will address this in a future blog. Women greet each other with kisses on both cheeks, but please understand, it's not always the same in each case. I've noticed that if a visitor comes to the house, of if I'm the visitor in question, then there is one kiss on the cheeck and then there are several kisses in a row on the second cheek. In between each of these kisses you are asking how the person you're kissing is doing.

It goes something like this.

Kiss on first cheek. "How are you?"

Kiss on other cheek. "I'm fine. Praise God"

Kiss on same cheeck. "How is your family"

Kiss on same cheek. "They're fine, and yours?

Kiss on same cheek. "How are your parents?"

Kiss on same cheek. "Praise God they're fine. And yours."

And on, and on, and on until you know how everyone is, and I do mean everyone. I've witnessed this kissing and I seriously don't know how many times they can ask "How are you" between kisses but they do it.

They're serious about kissing in Morocco.

Now, if I happen to walk into a family member's home, or a family member comes to me, then it's just one kiss on each cheek in greeting. This is all between females, of course. We can call this "kissing lite."

In the morning I greet Ali's grandparents by kissing the top of their hand as I give a slight bow. This type of kiss is reserved for older people as a sign of respect. Even if you meet them in the street this is what you do. And believe me, when it comes to the grandkids, grandparents want to be kissed often. I hear a lot of "Come kiss."

The final kiss I've observed is the kiss on the head. I'm not sure exactly who this is reserved for, but I can tell you that Ali does this to his older female relatives.

If you remember I began my blog with the story of Eli's school mate wanting a kiss. This leads me to another thing I've observed when it comes to kissing children. It's somewhat of a free-for-all. People in Morocco generally love children and always have kind words (and of course kisses) for them. My cThey'll stop in the street to kiss a child they don't know if that child for some reason catches their attention. Luckily the Moroccan society is not yet so jaded that this behavior warrents a 911 call or is even considered creepy. To me it really is endearing and charming.

So there you have it. Kisses all around, kisses for everyone!

Why I (and Americans I know) lost weight when visiting Marrakesh

Many  of you have heard me talk (perhaps ad nauseum) about how I was looking forward to losing weight during my stay in Morocco.

Well, a month gone and 10 pounds down later and, you know what, I don't care how much I aggravated you!!!!

So you're wondering what is this Moroccan magic I speak of. Let me tell you. But understand, I believe the weight loss arises from a combination of reasons, and as I read about health, wellness and fitness often, trust me, I know what I'm talking about.


1. It's the food, stupid!
Seriously, these people eat fresh, wholesome, non-processed meat, veggies and fruit, green tea, coffee, mik, whole grain bread and olive oil every day. They buy this food every day and they cook it immediately. This leads me to the second reason for my shedding the weight.

2. No pantries.
This is a biggie, I can assure you. Pantries don't exist here and, other than the ingredients to cook with, there is not much to be found in the refrigerator. As a result, there is no mindless snacking between meals or when you sit down to a movie or any other of the million times you can find an excuse to eat when the goodies are right in front of you. No! You pretty much only eat at meal times, tea times and coffee times. No way, you say! Yes way. I've watched these people and there is no noshing between set eating times.

3. Portion control
In Morocco food is served on a single platter and everyone eats from it. As they don't serve a ton of food to begin with and you are sharing your food with everyone else,I believe this combination leads to less consumption overall. Also, no one goes back for seconds. This is another thing I've watched for and it's true. When the food is gone, so is the appetite apparantly.

4. No soda or other sugary drinks.
These folks drink water at meals. That's it.

5. They eat often.
When you wake up you have what is called first breakfast. This is anywhere from 7:30-9 a.m. There is usually soup (kind of like milky grits) and coffee. Then at 11:30 or so they serve second breakfast, which is normally mint green tea, freshly prepared and baked (in the home) whole grain bread which is dipped in olive oil. Come on!!! It just doesn't get much healthier that that. This food combination happens to be delicious and is one of my favorite snacks of the day. Lunch is eaten around 2:30, then we have coffee around 5 or 5:30 with dinner following at 8 or 8:30. So it seems like you're eating a lot but really you're only eating often, which results in a faster metabolism. It also keeps people out of the kitchen between set eating times...not that they'd find anything to eat anyway but you get my meaning.

So I think that's pretty much it. That in addition to all the walking you do. I walk my kids back and forth to school eight times a day. Eigtht times!!! Also, since they buy food every day, often before every meal, Moroccans are continuously walking to one of the many neighborhoods hanuts (tiny little stores that line the streets and are sandwiched between homes).

There you have it folks. The facts of the fabulousness that is eating and losing weight in Morocco!!!!

Tidbits

So in the interest of sharing information and in having a little fun I've collected some factoids to share. These are just a few things I've noticed during my time in Marrakesh and are my observations alone. They are in no way meant to be broad generalizations about the Moroccan people, but here's my take on some of the more interesting things I've seen.

1. A lot of them smoke...at least the men do.
Before coming to Marrakesh I mentioned to one of my friends that it seemed like smoking was so much of a taboo nowadays in America that I rarely saw people puffing, unless I checked the shadows. It seems those poor addicted souls have been pushed to the outskirts of society, shunned and generally looked down upon (sorry if any of you smoke, but this is how it seems to me). So to see so many people smoking here is a little jolting. I even saw a man smoking indoors today and, what with the shock of it all I about fell off my stool, which would have been bad since I was enjoying a yummy smoothie and generally enjoying myself.

2. They use bogus pictures as their Facebook profile pics.
Now this is a weird one. Of all of my relatives here who have FB pages, none of them use their own images as their profile pics. They use these random pics of who knows who. I can only guess they are models or pop stars. Who knows. And, even weirder, none of them use their own names. They either change their first or last names, or use their mother's maiden names or make up an entirely new moniker all together. Seriously, I don't get it, but I think it may have something to do with the secretive nature of Muslims, but I could be way off on that one. But I will tell you that Ali's cousin, who made up a different name for her FB page, told me she didn't want people to be able to find her on FB. Then what's the point, I say. Oh well, each to his own.

3. They're always cold.
I know, I know I already mentioned this in a previous blog, but really there is no getting over this. Today Eli got his long-sleeved shirt really dirty so of course he took it off with nary a worried glance from me I might add. Now, bowing slightly to peer pressure as I am, he did have on a white T-shirt underneath. Just short sleeves but hey, it was like 75 degrees today. Perfectly weather-appropriate attire right? Well, as soon as that shirt was off the great-grandmother is hollering that it's cold and am I crazy (at least this is what I imagine she was saying). And to prove how frigid it is she defiantly shows me the three shirts she's wearing. After that display I wonder if my totally disinterested and unconvinced stare translated. I think it did. I heard her mumbling under her breath for the next 15 minutes while stealing quick, disapproving glances at Eli and shaking her head. Subtle.

4. The men are bold.
What I mean by this is that they stare at the ladies. And by stare I don't mean a quick glance and look away I mean a stare you down, look you up and down and then turn around to stare at you some more as you walk away. And not just a few of them but nearly all of them. They even did this when I was walking with Ali and, let me tell you, I thought Ali was about to throw down a couple of times. Now when it comes to the characteristics of Islam most of my family come from the school of Ali and are probably shocked by what I've just written. But you must understand my husband actually tries to follow Islam which tells men and women "to lower their gaze and protect their modesty" when dealing with the opposite sex. Surprising I would come to a Muslim country and be so thoroughly checked out. But hey, it did give me the opportunity to give the finger in a foreign country!

5. They're serious about eating.
As I've mentioned in a previous blog, their eating is very regimented in that they have five eating times a day and, excepting for the lunch and dinner meals, basically the same food is served. In that vein, if you happen to be tired and go to bed at 8 after you've had your coffee and bread at 6 p.m. you better believe they will come in your room where you are asleep in the pitch dark and attempt to wake you up for dinner. This has actually happened to me. It's like they can't believe you might skip dinner (to be fair their food rocks so I get their concern but give a girl a break). My mother-in-law came to my room one night recently and, in a loud whisper, told me it was time to eat and that the food was very good and I should come down. It took me nearly a full minute to convince her that, thank you, thank you I'm sure the food is out of this world, outstanding, fabulous, etc., but I'm tired and I really want to sleep. Luckily my mother-in-law is super cool and didn't take offense, but man these people want you to eat. Also as a side note on food, they serve everything on platters, and I do mean everything. One night when I was trying to get to sleep early after a particularly long time at the hammam (public bath), I explained to my mother-in-law that I was going to sleep without dinner. It was all she could do to contain herself but she managed to recover admirably. However  she couldn't quite help herself and she pushed two oranges and a cup of tea into my hands, served so sweetly on a platter. Oranges and tea my friends. It's like they can't believe you would (gasp!) carry a cup of tea and an orange in your hand up to your room. Funny stuff happening here, let me tell you.

6. Finally, a word about fashion...a lot of the guys wear studded belts.
As I sit here typing I am sharing the room with an orange belt with silver studs worn by Ali's nephew. His brother also has his own and I've been quick to notice similar styles on several of the young guys here. Really, I have no words for this particular tidbit only to say it's not as bad as you might think.

Routine Thwarted

I knew blogging about the benefits of a routine, how wonderful it is and blah, blah, blah would come back to bite me in the butt. By way of explanation let's just say my day today turned out rather differently than I anticipated.

Let me tell you all about it.

First, I woke up as usual with the kids to the rush-hour frenzy that is getting ready for school in the Morocco house (as my kids call it.) I'm putting on clothes, brushing teeth, fending off potential early-morning-crankiness-induced fights, trying to get ample amounts of food into a resistant Drea's belly, telling Eli for the umpteenth time that he can't watch Spiderman before school lest it send him into a screaming fit when he has to turn it off to head to school. I'm sure all you parents have a sufficient mental picture of what's going on here, even 5,000 miles away.

Anyway, we are finally up and out the door and running only a few minutes late. However, it seems noone bothered to tell the foreigner (that would be me) that there is some holiday today  in Morocco and there is no school. I kinda figured it out when I arrived at a quiet and locked-up school.

Drea was bummed, crazy girl that she is. "I'm mad at school. I miss school. I want to learn." Bless her heart, I thnk she was almost as upset as I was.

But not quite.

So back to the Morocco house we go, where Eli and his cousin Nazaar promptly start fighting and I and Nazaar's mother look at each other with the knowing (and grim) looks of mothers with a long, long day ahead of them.

Sister-in-law to the rescue. Or so I thought. Wafa (aforementioned sister-in-law) suggests a day spent at her older sister Saida's house. A quick look at Eli and Nazaar about to make like the WWF and I'm out of there.

Needless to say this was a mistake. Wafa assured me this was a 30-minute walk. I really should have known better.

What should have amounted to a half hour ended up taking over a hour as we were accompanied by these two whiny, seemingly crippled children. I really don't know where they came from.

All joking aside I was happy when we finally reached our destination and, in true Moroccan form, we were greeted with mint tea and freshly made bread and olive oil. Delish!!!!

Once satiated my mood changed considerably and for the better. Prepared mother that I am I had brought along four cartoon DVD's (which we buy for pennies at this great little shop near the Morocco house) and the kids were soon calmed and quiet. We ended up spending a nice afternoon with the fam, only interrupted by a little nap for Drea who was sufferering from a slight fever.

The walk home was better as my request to borrow my sister-in-law's stroller was happily complied with. I parked Eli in that sucker, put Drea on my back (when in Morocco do as the Moroccans do!) and headed home.

Once back home, we were greeted by Ali's uncle and his devil of a son (this is the kid who threatened Eli with a shockingly long kitchen knife, one which I had to pry out of his death grip before he murdered my son in a fit of rage, I kid you not) and the uncle's wife. They were here not five minutes, not even time to have a cup of coffee and those kids were at it. WWF was on and it was vicious! After the devil child whacked Eli across the face it was all over. I never saw two people (i.e. his parents) haul butt so quickly out of there. You should have seen Ali's mother's face when she realized they hadn't even had coffee (God forbid!), but that kid was heard kicking and screaming all the way out to the car, and you know what? I wasn't sorry at all to see him go. No telling what I would have done if he had pulled another knife.

After that I shuffled my kids (Eli screaming from his recent mistreatment) through the bath, calmed them down, put on Spiderman, took a deep breath and put them in the care of Wafa. That's what kid sisters-in-law are for after all.

They were sleeping by 7.

Routine

With Ali gone I've settled into a routine, which suits me just fine as anyone who knows me will tell you. I like order, a schedule of sorts with some fun thrown in.

Mornings start with getting kids off to school, dressing them, feeding them, pottying them and the like. Then we take the less-than-five-minute walk to school, where they stay from 8:30-11:30.

While they're away I keep myself busy. Besides doing a happy dance every five minutes, (kids in school will have that effect!), I have my morning soup, which is similar to milk-heavy grits, and my coffee. Then it's up to my room to make the bed and change into my workout clothes. Then it's on to the best part of my morning schedule-my workout. I love it! Not only do I feel great, but it reminds me of being at home, where I always exercized in the a.m. Then it's a shower and dress in time to go pick up the kids.

Once home we sit down to what's called "second breakfast" in Morocco, which usually consists of homemade bread (a daily staple) which we dip in olive oil. This is accompanied by the famous Moroccan mint tea. The whole meal is delish, and I and Drea love it. Eli usually munches on fruits and nuts while he watches cartoons or plays with his cousin. Good enough for me.

By 2 it's back to school for the kiddos until 5. I do a second happy dance of the day once they're dropped off, and then it's home for lunch. That is awesome, as usual, and then the rest of the day is free for walks around my neighborhood or a nap or whatever. I even did some cleaning and laundry today so I felt very productive.

Once the kids are home at five, I am quick to let them play a little, watch some TV and then it's dinner for them, bathroom needs and bed at 7 for Eli. I usually let Drea stay awake a little longer, maybe 7:30.

Tell me moms and dads, is is terrible that I can't wait for those kids to go to bed considering the six hours a day they spend at school?

No. I didn't think so.

A highlight of my day? I Skyped with Ali twice, once after I dropped off kids for afternoon school session and again when they got home. Nice!

Gone

When the time came so did the tears.

A few.

Ali left on Saturday to return home, and as he urged me not to cry too much lest I upset the kids, I held back. But seeing my husband go was hard, especially as I took in the pained look on his face. It was like this defining moment in our lives. Our first time apart for any significant length of time.

Some might say that's a dramatic sentiment, but I don't think so. After three weeks of non-stop time together, time often spent alone enjoying ourselves is this dynamic, ancient medina (city in Arabic), it was difficult to let go. But let go I did and now we're reduced to talking over a computer, but man am I grateful for it. I think Skype and Ali's iPhone with its constant connection to us will be our saving grace during this time. The kids are anxious to speak to him when they get out of school, and Ali is already showing signs of missing us (i.e. texting with  me at 1:30 a.m. his time). He said being in a lonely quiet house is no good for him.

I know maybe you guys are expecting some sage observations from me about the sorrow of separation and the suckiness of it all, but I can't  manage it right now. All I can say is that it's not ideal but, strong girl that I am, I know I can handle it.

For a while at least.

Vacation for two?

Yes, yes we brought the kids with us (though sometimes I question that wisdom), but with the kids enrolled in school full time before we had even been here a week (yeah we had those kids in school and out of our hair right quick!) Ali and I have been having a bit of time to ourselves.

And we've taken advantage!

First, we confiscated the moped from his nephew (insert evil laugh here!) and we hit the streets. It reminded me of the first time we came to Morocco, before babies and madness and we were completely carefree. Needless to say school has allowed a nice return to that feeling, at least until we have to pick them up.

So how have we been spending our time?

Ali gave me a driving tour of several of Marrakesh's hotels, many of them four- and five-star. We also toured Jardin Majorelle, a famous garden here noted for its vibrant blue hues of the home and surrounding grounds. We also hiked up a rock mountain smack dab in the middle of the city and were treated to gorgeous panaromic views of this ancient medina!!!! It was amazing and thanks to my hubby for suggesting it. We've also taken several walks together just checking out local neighborhoods and all the amzing architecture here. Even though all the buildings in Marrakesh must me red or a shade of red, there is an great amount of variety when it comes to the style of homes, many of them using colored glass tiles or intricate mosaics to complement doorways, windows and balconies. All  in all, beautiful!

So this trip, unlike the last one when our babies were 2 and 2 months and we were largely homebound, Ali and I have had much more time to explore for my (albeit temporary) home and, most importantly, to be alone.

My mother-in-law

I'm writing this blog on the fly, that is to say with no particular subject in mind. However, a thought occured to me earlier while I was cleaning the dinner dishes, a feat I only barely managed to accomplish before my mother-in-law could step in and put a stop to such  nonsense (i.e. me not letting her serve me 24/7). Furthermore, I'm still in shock I managed to sneak out of dinner early to do the dishes, another miracle I can't believe I pulled, plauged as I am with my mother-in-law's sharp eyes monitoring my every bite, no doubt calculating exactly how much food I require to fill my belly.

But I digress.

Let me offer a word about her kitchen. It is, by far, the smallest room in the house. But what comes out of that kitchen twice a day (the two major meals) is only comparable to the amount of people in and out of that cramped space. And I suspect the company my mother-in-law keepswhile tending to her stove is not only because of her terrific cooking, it's because of her.

My mother-in-law is definitely the heart of this home, and since she's often to be found in the kitchen, so is everyone else. Her children are in and out to talk to her, huddled in a small stool in the corner or casually perched on the countertop, speaking often in hushed tones, conveying intimacies and confidences. Her grandchildren scamper at her feet, in every danger from the yummies cooking on the stove but there's hardly a sharp word. Indeed it's the youngsters' parents who are often reprimanding the children only to be told "Leave him/her." So leave them we do. Besides they'll probably be in there before long, whispering their own secrets and having a laugh with her.

That's the other thing. My mother-in-law is pretty funny. At least so much as I can tell based on our very limited conversation. She's always laughing and always good for a joke or a funny story. Suffice it to say, I wish I knew her better.